"One shot of gin...
Her eye sockets are further in
Then they should be, wanting so to eat,
But she’s not allowed in..."
This week has been a bit of a waste. No - there were some lovely evenings of being social and playing swash-buckling games* - but I haven’t done anything constructive. I’ve spent a lot of time in bed being mopey. Which is bloody useless. Also spent quite a bit of time talking myself out of stabbing myself. Which is irritating as I’d rather hoped I’d got past that.
I think my problem is that I’m not writing at the moment.** After swearing at my brain and telling it to stop pissing about trying to write a Dickens novel in the guise of a short Sherlock Holmes story, my brain is now apparently sulking. And I can’t seem to write. Anything. Fuck. Nope, not even when sleep deprived or after drinking an amount of vodka (which are two of my questionable but reliable ways of kickstarting stories). Woe is me etc etc.
I have a lot of drawing I’m meant to have done. Haven’t done it. Or rather I have, but I need to do all the ultra-dull clean up stuff and am dragging my feet like a bad baggage draggy-feeted-thing.
I was feeling sorry enough for myself to deal a couple of hands of tarot. The first one told me very bluntly exactly what my situation was***; and the second one was... interesting.
Me: Fool
Path: Sun
Past: Vengeance
Future: Hermit
Present, Leading to: 4 Wands to Ace Pentacles
Core: 9 Knives
Environment: 9 Pentacles
Hopes/Fears: 9 Wands
Outcome: King of Pentacles
Which in vague translation runs thus: Follow your whims, it will bring you victory in the end. You've had to weather storms and in the future you may have to walk a lonely stretch of road. Right now your best path is taking all that crazy in your head and turning it any which way you can into pen-strokes of one sort or another as that's the way you'll get a paycheck. You know that just 'cos you're not depressed doesn't mean you're not crazy - which is just as well 'cos you're crazy as a bag of jellyfish dear girl. People you know (specifically your father and ClickSlide) need to trust their own instincts - it will see them right in the end. You've got a fight coming (heh - when do I not?) but it's one you can weather and likely win - so grab your sword and step up, bitch. And at the end? King of Pentacles - which has a secondary meaning for me than it would the average tarot reader.
I don’t think I’ve wanted a hand of tarot to be accurate as much as I desperately hope this one is. How many souls do I have to sell for this to be true?
What else? Today I tried out one of the silver toners I had bought for my feathers. Somehow - and really, I have no damn idea how - my feathers are now an indescribable colour which might be various things but certainly isn’t silver. Antique gold with a pink sheen? WTF? That’s really not what it advertised on the bottle. Sigh. My feathers and I are not currently on speaking terms as I feel they’re taking the piss. Yes, when they're dry tomorrow I'll take a picture and you can all snigger.
* = Kez and Antoine kicked the crap out of a demon and then killed it in a rematch. Kez went a bit mental after and did icky things to soldiers with shadows and then had a conversation with her dead brother. Oh, also, she’s pregnant, and now Antoine wants to wrap her in cotton wool. Which really isn't gonna work.
**= I mean the problem that’s kicking me off balance currently. Having the sanity of a rabid eel, being in love with a ghost, having no money and an uncertain vocation is less of a ‘current problem’ more like a ‘constant issue’ =P
***= There's a fair bit I could type about me and my situation, and indeed I started to do so under the title of 'LJ posts I should not post' before deciding that actually half the time i didn't want to know this shit, other people certainly didn't.
Then they should be, wanting so to eat,
But she’s not allowed in..."
This week has been a bit of a waste. No - there were some lovely evenings of being social and playing swash-buckling games* - but I haven’t done anything constructive. I’ve spent a lot of time in bed being mopey. Which is bloody useless. Also spent quite a bit of time talking myself out of stabbing myself. Which is irritating as I’d rather hoped I’d got past that.
I think my problem is that I’m not writing at the moment.** After swearing at my brain and telling it to stop pissing about trying to write a Dickens novel in the guise of a short Sherlock Holmes story, my brain is now apparently sulking. And I can’t seem to write. Anything. Fuck. Nope, not even when sleep deprived or after drinking an amount of vodka (which are two of my questionable but reliable ways of kickstarting stories). Woe is me etc etc.
I have a lot of drawing I’m meant to have done. Haven’t done it. Or rather I have, but I need to do all the ultra-dull clean up stuff and am dragging my feet like a bad baggage draggy-feeted-thing.
I was feeling sorry enough for myself to deal a couple of hands of tarot. The first one told me very bluntly exactly what my situation was***; and the second one was... interesting.
Me: Fool
Path: Sun
Past: Vengeance
Future: Hermit
Present, Leading to: 4 Wands to Ace Pentacles
Core: 9 Knives
Environment: 9 Pentacles
Hopes/Fears: 9 Wands
Outcome: King of Pentacles
Which in vague translation runs thus: Follow your whims, it will bring you victory in the end. You've had to weather storms and in the future you may have to walk a lonely stretch of road. Right now your best path is taking all that crazy in your head and turning it any which way you can into pen-strokes of one sort or another as that's the way you'll get a paycheck. You know that just 'cos you're not depressed doesn't mean you're not crazy - which is just as well 'cos you're crazy as a bag of jellyfish dear girl. People you know (specifically your father and ClickSlide) need to trust their own instincts - it will see them right in the end. You've got a fight coming (heh - when do I not?) but it's one you can weather and likely win - so grab your sword and step up, bitch. And at the end? King of Pentacles - which has a secondary meaning for me than it would the average tarot reader.
I don’t think I’ve wanted a hand of tarot to be accurate as much as I desperately hope this one is. How many souls do I have to sell for this to be true?
What else? Today I tried out one of the silver toners I had bought for my feathers. Somehow - and really, I have no damn idea how - my feathers are now an indescribable colour which might be various things but certainly isn’t silver. Antique gold with a pink sheen? WTF? That’s really not what it advertised on the bottle. Sigh. My feathers and I are not currently on speaking terms as I feel they’re taking the piss. Yes, when they're dry tomorrow I'll take a picture and you can all snigger.
* = Kez and Antoine kicked the crap out of a demon and then killed it in a rematch. Kez went a bit mental after and did icky things to soldiers with shadows and then had a conversation with her dead brother. Oh, also, she’s pregnant, and now Antoine wants to wrap her in cotton wool. Which really isn't gonna work.
**= I mean the problem that’s kicking me off balance currently. Having the sanity of a rabid eel, being in love with a ghost, having no money and an uncertain vocation is less of a ‘current problem’ more like a ‘constant issue’ =P
***= There's a fair bit I could type about me and my situation, and indeed I started to do so under the title of 'LJ posts I should not post' before deciding that actually half the time i didn't want to know this shit, other people certainly didn't.